The weather outside feels like April. Except less rain. Go figure. It was bright and sunny today and as my boyfriend and I were both up (he never went to bed, I actually got up early), we decided to go to Multnomah Falls.
Not only was the weather amazing, but I’m feeling really good as well. We took the only Flexcar available at the time, the Honda Element, which is way over on 5th and Harrison – a good 8 blocks or so. When we took this car last month, I had to drag myself through every last block. Today, we detoured through Smith Center to stop at the ATM and when we were stopped at the light waiting to cross the street, I realized that we were almost to the car. Six blocks (snapping my fingers) just like that.
School is in session, so this time as we walked to the car, I could see everyone rushing to class or to the coffee shop. Remembered and longed for that time when I was able to rush to class or hang out with my friends at the Broadway Café instead of shuffle along with a cane in my hand. But then I stopped. Decided that was the past. I’m grateful for that past. For the experiences I had. But I will live in today. Be the person I am at this moment rather than miss the past.
I drove out there, hiked all the way up a little past the Benson bridge and back to the car without even having to sit down (though, I might have sat down had the benches not all been wet). As we passed the sign showing the distance to the top of the falls, I remembered how I once hiked up there as a kid. Had that pang of longing to be able to do that again. And then stopped. Decided I would be grateful for what I had today: more energy than I’ve had in months and months. Enough energy to hike .4 miles.
Then we drove through the old Columbia Highway and stopped up at Crown Point to get the view of the Columbia Gorge. Since it was windy (as it usually is) we only stayed for a couple of minutes and then drove into Troutdale where we went out to breakfast. Since we still had a bit of time left on the Flexcar, we stopped by Limbo and Trader Joe’s. On the way back we took the car through the car wash and filled up the gas tank since I get money back on my Flexcar bill for doing so.
Fitting in that last activity cut it close for getting the Flexcar back in time and it led to what I think was the closest thing we’ve ever had to a quarrel. He was concerned about the car being late (it costs an extra $4, at minimum, if we’re late), while I was certain we’d be back within enough time as we weren’t that far away.
“If we’re late, you’re getting spanked,” he said.
Again, I was certain we would be in time but made sure not to dawdle just to be super safe. Of course, I got red lights the whole way back, but we pulled into the parking place with a minute left on the reservation.
“See, I told ya,” I said as we got out of the car.
“Oh, you’re still getting spanked for cutting it so close.”
Hey, he hadn’t said that. But then I thought, well, maybe he’s just in a playful mood or something.
When we walked in the door, he took the bag of groceries and my purse. Took off my coat and scarf. “Get on the bed. Jeans off, knickers down,” he said sternly. I thought he was just being all strict to heighten the experience. I complied quickly, as you might imagine. Though did scowl when I saw him taking out the bath brush (Ugh, again? Gawd I hate that thing!). My skin was still a bit cold from being outside and of course, my bottom was still sore from the spanking on Friday. So that damn brush hurt like hell.
First there was a discussion about how at the gas station I’d said it was only going to take 4 minutes to get home – a number I honestly meant more symbolically to mean that we weren’t that far from home (as in “we’re only like, 4 minutes from home”), while he took it literally – and it took us 7 minutes to get home. We settled that misunderstanding, but apparently that wasn’t really the main issue.
“What really annoyed me,” he said while spanking me really hard, “was that you seemed to be rushing fast to get back.”
I lay there thinking back (which is REALLY hard when you’re getting trashed) to the 7 minute drive through a very familiar stretch trying to judge whether or not I had really been rushing. It didn’t seem like it. I wasn’t really speeding (well, okay there were about 5 seconds there when I was about 6 miles over the speed limit, but that probably would have happened even if I had all the time in the world). Sure, I probably took a couple of turns a bit quicker than I might have otherwise (but then again, because it’s such a familiar bit of road, I might well have been that zippy) but compared to what I normally do when I’m in a rush, that wasn’t really all that rushed. Yet, I certainly couldn’t say THAT as I’d really get whaled on.
“Well, were you or weren’t you?” Punctuating the question with several hard smacks.
“Well, I don’t know,” I said as he smacked some more. “I mean, maybe a little bit but…OW!” He spanked me several more times, then stopped and tapped the brush against my bottom. No rubbing my bottom or my back.
“Yes or no. Were you or were you not rushing?” It seemed like an unfairly bipolar question without taking into account any sort of degree, which in this case was very minor (though I couldn’t think enough through the spanking to say it that articulately). I continued with my argument that it was only a little bit, to which he responded with more smacks and then repeated the question.
This was just being mean.
I finally conceded “Yes” though maintained that I would have still stopped to fill up the gas tank as I knew we’d still be back in time. He spanked some more than asked me if I was going to rush when I’m driving, to which I replied (albeit a bit sullenly) “No, Sir.” A couple more smacks and then he stopped. Put the brush on the bed then sat down on the edge.
I climbed up toward him expecting to cuddle, pulled up my knickers, and asked if he could put some arnica cream on my bottom. “I’ll put the cream on, but you’re not getting a cuddle as you have absolutely no remorse for what you’ve done.” He was sorta smiling, so I couldn’t help but sorta smile too as he was right. I really didn’t at that point. But when he got up and went to have a smoke, I was stunned. How could he not cuddle me? I felt completely abandoned. How could he be that mean? I curled up with my pillow and scowled. Teared up a bit.
“Look,” he said, “if you think I spanked you unfairly, just say so. I mean it.” That’s when I realized he wasn’t playing at all. He really was annoyed. But by that point, so was I.
“Think of it this way,” he said more kindly. “You’re not well. You don’t drive that often. Your spatial perception is off. No, you weren’t driving or speeding in a way that was all that unsafe. But you’ve clipped my heels three times today – which was only slightly annoying – but shows that your spatial perception is off. What might be only slightly unsafe for someone else is much more unsafe for you.”
He smoked and I lay thinking through the whole thing. The drive. Not being cuddled. His comment on my spatial perception stung about as much as the spanking. It was true, though I drive more than he does. And it’s different when I’m driving than walking, though I didn’t know how to explain that. And I’d actually been even more careful than normal in changing lanes because I’m not used to driving the Element. A part of me felt some remorse. Conceded that he might have a point. But not cuddling me was just mean.
This was a shitty way to end what had been such a great day.
After he finished his cigarette, he came over. Lay down next to me. “Okay, cuddle.” I started crying softly as he put his arms around me. Then he whispered in my ear. “Will you do me a favor? Will you promise not to rush when you’re driving?” I nodded. Smiled a bit.
“Though, it’s going to be a hard habit to break,” I said with a little giggle.
And we cuddled. He rubbed my bottom. “I don’t want anything to happen to my Shadwell” (his Welsh bastardization of my Arabic nickname, Shadiah). I smiled. A lot. Not just because what he said was very sweet, but because he’d kill me if he knew what I was normally like when I’m rushing. “You keep looking like you want to say something,” he said. I grinned and blushed a little.
“Well, if I say it, I’ll get in even more trouble.” No, he assured me, I would not. So, I told him that the rushing that afternoon was nothing compared to my normal rushing.
Which, he’d already figured was the case.
There’s such a fine line between play and discipline. It certainly makes me realize how important communication is when a relationship like this involves some sort of disciplinary arrangement. Not that all relationships don’t require good communication. But somehow when you’re giving someone else control over you to some degree, it can be easy to lose yourself, which means you have to be more assertive in setting boundaries and verbalizing your feelings. With my boyfriend it’s very easy as he regularly validates my feelings and readily respects those boundaries, usually without me even having to verbally set them. But this experience made me appreciate just what a balancing act it is.
And that rushing in the car, no matter how very little it might be, makes Mr. Stern very unhappy. And when he’s unhappy, my bottom is very sore.
Monday, January 24, 2005
Sunday, January 23, 2005
"Domestic Discipline" of a sort...
We were doing the dishes tonight and as I was putting away the small frying pan, I wondered aloud what it would be like to get spanked with one.
"Turn around and bend over," my boyfriend said as he took the frying pan.
I laughed. Did as I was told, though was a bit surprised as he had seemed like he wasn't really in the mood.
I can now report that frying pans sting a great deal when you get spanked with them. Even over jeans. Especially when your bottom is already pretty sore and bruised from previous spankings.
"Now that's what I call 'domestic discipline,'" he said as he hung the pan up and I rubbed my stinging bottom.
"Turn around and bend over," my boyfriend said as he took the frying pan.
I laughed. Did as I was told, though was a bit surprised as he had seemed like he wasn't really in the mood.
I can now report that frying pans sting a great deal when you get spanked with them. Even over jeans. Especially when your bottom is already pretty sore and bruised from previous spankings.
"Now that's what I call 'domestic discipline,'" he said as he hung the pan up and I rubbed my stinging bottom.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Straddling the edge
It's funny how some spankings have more emotional intensity than others. Particularly disciplinary spankings.
Last night I got spanked because I didn't finish reading the book that was on my schedule last week to finish -- one of those icky evangelical Christian historical fiction novels I'm deconstructing for my thesis. The issue for my Mr. Stern was the importance of the schedule and my failure to meet all the items I'd committed to completing that week (not many, only three items as I've gotten spanked in the past for making my schedule too ambitious). When he said I was going to get a "pretty severe spanking" later that day, I argued that it was only one thing one time that I hadn't finished when I've had months of completing my schedules. But I didn't really have a good reason for it not being done. Mostly not being able to settle down and just read the damn book. Not really budgeting enough time. Letting myself get distracted, which is easy when it's something I don't really want to read in the first place and you're in a studio apartment with your boyfriend. "So, you didn't allocate your time properly." No, I didn't -- a spankable offence certainly--but it didn't seem to merit a "pretty severe spanking" in my opinion. Unfortunately, my opinion, which I certainly have a right to voice, is not what decides as apparently it's not necessarily the most objective.
Hmph.
A year and a half ago, right before we actually met in person and he was keeping track of my offenses in a little book (which he has since lost...how very unfortunate...he he he) I decided I was going to change a deadline and casually let him know that I was changing it. "Uh, no you're not going to change it or there would be no point of having a deadline," he said. I was a bit stunned. What do you mean I can't change it? I'm a grown adult and I think I can decide when I want to change a deadline, I thought. After a bit of discussion ensued, he finally said I could send him a brief essay about why I should be allowed to move the deadline. So, I sat and thought and outlined and wrote. And the next day when he came online and read the essay, he politely but firmly declined my request. I had tickets to see Ibdaa, a Palestinian dance troupe, whose performance I needed to leave for in short order which meant that I had no time to argue with him. But damn was I sulky. I enjoyed the show but sat through it stewing. He just didn't understand. He was just being mean. He wasn't being fair. And again, I'm a grown adult. Who is he to tell me I can't change a damn deadline when I want to?
Later that night my crankiness melted into resignation and then into compliance. The only reason I was pissed off was because I was not getting my way. I was the one who had always wanted structure and discipline, and now that someone was actually giving me that, why the hell was I getting sulky? He really was not being mean but actually trying to do something for my benefit. Yes, I was a grown adult and as such had chosen of my own freewill and desire to submit to the discipline of another who I respected and cared for a great deal and knew respected and cared about me a great deal.
Yesterday as I awaited the appointed time for my spanking, I stewed and sulked and pondered. While I was still a bit confused about why my offense was so grave, I began to feel fairly acquiescent about my impending "pretty severe spanking." When the time came, I quietly laid down on the bed as I was told to and waited, which has a very similar effect to standing in the corner. As I lay there, I thought about how I had indeed been very naughty. I had purposely done things like clean house to avoid my reading. Watched television when I knew I hadn't finished my reading. And if I was really honest, I had sorta not taken it that seriously, thinking that if I got a few hours done, that would be good enough (you know the old cliche, give me an inch and I'll take a mile). My thinking time was interrupted every minute or two with him calling out to tell me what new statistic he'd found in the report I'd downloaded for him (some research we're doing for a book about the US and the rest of the world), bringing me out of my meditation on my naughtiness and back into our normal relationship. As he read more and I lay there snuggling my pillows, I began to get sleepy. "I'm going to fall asleep soon," I said with what was probably a bit of a whine.
So, in he came. When he took out the bath brush, I winced. When he also took out the wooden spoon, I got that heavy feeling in my stomach as it confirmed my worst fear. The wooden spoon is usually used on my thighs. It really was going to be a "pretty severe spanking."
"Now, why are you getting spanked?" he asked as his hand started smacking my upturned bottom while my knees sunk into the bedspread and my body cradled my pillows.
"Because I didn't finish my reading," I replied.
"And why didn't you finish your reading?"
I paused for a second to think of an articulate way of describing my dereliction of duty.
"Because I didn't 'allocate my time properly.'"
And thinking of an articulate response was becoming a challenge as even his hand over my pajama bottoms was starting to really sting. I had taken a bath not quite an hour before, but I didn't think my skin would still be that sensitive. My stomach felt even heavier as I knew what was coming.
Indeed, just a few seconds later came the tug on my pajama bottoms. More hand spanks on my now bare backside. Then smacks from something wooden but fairly light. (Guess the Implement is a slightly amusing little mental game to ever so temporarily distract you from the fact that it's scalding your backside.) Then the hairbrush. A pause to discuss my infraction a bit more.
How much reading had I actually done?
About three hours or so.
Had I simply not allocated my time properly or had it been a bit much to expect to finish the book?
Hmm...both answers would be bad -- the latter being perhaps even a bit worse since I've been spanked for that before. But honestly? Well, I didn't know. At the time it seemed like a reasonable expectation that I'd finish the book. It's easy reading. Not that long (well, by grad student standards). I had a week to read. At least I thought I did. Was that the week after we came back from Vancouver? Or the week I had the unexpected extended session with the massage therapist?
Even after looking up the dates on my schedule (well, he looked it up while I remained in my er...rather undignified position) I was still unclear. It seemed like stuff had come up that week that in hindsight probably did make it a bit unrealistic to expect that I'd finish the book. But it seemed reasonable at the time.
It's hard to think clearly when you're getting spanked.
Especially with a mean old bath brush.
Which was searing my sit spot. Over and over.
Then it came. That feeling of wanting to cry. But just for a moment. That instinctive need to be stoic quickly pushed it away. Sorta.
Even as my brain was busy trying to process the pain constantly assaulting it from the south, I was becoming aware of this tug-of-war between my desire to cry and my deeply ingrained stoicism. I'd never been aware of it before. Well, that's not completely true. I've seen glimpses of it before, but I was so much more conscious of it this time than I ever had been. I would come to that edge and start to cross over, then stop. Start to cross over again, then stop. In many ways it almost felt sorta out of body. Just sitting and watching myself going back and forth.
He stopped with the brush and started spanking with his hand again. Then told me to lay flat on the bed.
Which in some ways was good because that made my bottom less tense and vulnerable.
But very bad because it made my thighs very much more vulnerable. Which was the whole point.
As he spanked my bottom more with the bath brush, he scolded me. (Boy has he gotten a lot better and mean-- er...uh...sterner -- in his scolding). How the schedule was important. How I should tell him if I'm having trouble finishing it. Combined with my pre-spanking reflection about how naughty I'd been, it made me feel very little and naughty and guilty and repentant. I just wanted to be a good girl again.
Then came those mean smacks with the wooden spoon on my thighs. And promises that if I ever failed to finish my schedule again without good reason I'd get the wooden spoon on the top of my thighs (with the memory of such a spanking adding to the horrible "eek!!" in my gut).
I crossed over the edge again. Stepped one foot fully down on the other side and started to tear up and vocally sob.
I so wanted the spanking to stop.
I so wanted to be a good girl.
I so wanted to let all that sadness and guilt and hurt out.
But it was only one foot. The other stayed firmly planted on solid stoic soil.
For this time, at least.
The bath brush came out again for six more strokes that I had to count. Then it was over. He lay down on the bed next to me. "Big cuddle." I clutched him with a foot on either side as he held me. Still tearing up. Still letting out little sobs. But not quite fully crying.
We lay there for a long time. He stroked my hair and my bottom. Softly asked me if I was going to let him know next time if I was having problems completing my schedule.
"Yes," I nodded.
"Good girl."
I had the most intense feeling of love and intimacy with any human being I think I've ever had at that moment. It was one of, if not the most amazing thing I've ever felt. As I think back on it now, all I can think is, oh my god, I soooo want to do that again. I mean, I remember that the spanking really hurt, but it seems so absolutely beautiful and profound now. And even though I have this desire to repeat the experience, I also want very much to be good.
Though good girl spankings just don't have quite the same effect.
Last night I got spanked because I didn't finish reading the book that was on my schedule last week to finish -- one of those icky evangelical Christian historical fiction novels I'm deconstructing for my thesis. The issue for my Mr. Stern was the importance of the schedule and my failure to meet all the items I'd committed to completing that week (not many, only three items as I've gotten spanked in the past for making my schedule too ambitious). When he said I was going to get a "pretty severe spanking" later that day, I argued that it was only one thing one time that I hadn't finished when I've had months of completing my schedules. But I didn't really have a good reason for it not being done. Mostly not being able to settle down and just read the damn book. Not really budgeting enough time. Letting myself get distracted, which is easy when it's something I don't really want to read in the first place and you're in a studio apartment with your boyfriend. "So, you didn't allocate your time properly." No, I didn't -- a spankable offence certainly--but it didn't seem to merit a "pretty severe spanking" in my opinion. Unfortunately, my opinion, which I certainly have a right to voice, is not what decides as apparently it's not necessarily the most objective.
Hmph.
A year and a half ago, right before we actually met in person and he was keeping track of my offenses in a little book (which he has since lost...how very unfortunate...he he he) I decided I was going to change a deadline and casually let him know that I was changing it. "Uh, no you're not going to change it or there would be no point of having a deadline," he said. I was a bit stunned. What do you mean I can't change it? I'm a grown adult and I think I can decide when I want to change a deadline, I thought. After a bit of discussion ensued, he finally said I could send him a brief essay about why I should be allowed to move the deadline. So, I sat and thought and outlined and wrote. And the next day when he came online and read the essay, he politely but firmly declined my request. I had tickets to see Ibdaa, a Palestinian dance troupe, whose performance I needed to leave for in short order which meant that I had no time to argue with him. But damn was I sulky. I enjoyed the show but sat through it stewing. He just didn't understand. He was just being mean. He wasn't being fair. And again, I'm a grown adult. Who is he to tell me I can't change a damn deadline when I want to?
Later that night my crankiness melted into resignation and then into compliance. The only reason I was pissed off was because I was not getting my way. I was the one who had always wanted structure and discipline, and now that someone was actually giving me that, why the hell was I getting sulky? He really was not being mean but actually trying to do something for my benefit. Yes, I was a grown adult and as such had chosen of my own freewill and desire to submit to the discipline of another who I respected and cared for a great deal and knew respected and cared about me a great deal.
Yesterday as I awaited the appointed time for my spanking, I stewed and sulked and pondered. While I was still a bit confused about why my offense was so grave, I began to feel fairly acquiescent about my impending "pretty severe spanking." When the time came, I quietly laid down on the bed as I was told to and waited, which has a very similar effect to standing in the corner. As I lay there, I thought about how I had indeed been very naughty. I had purposely done things like clean house to avoid my reading. Watched television when I knew I hadn't finished my reading. And if I was really honest, I had sorta not taken it that seriously, thinking that if I got a few hours done, that would be good enough (you know the old cliche, give me an inch and I'll take a mile). My thinking time was interrupted every minute or two with him calling out to tell me what new statistic he'd found in the report I'd downloaded for him (some research we're doing for a book about the US and the rest of the world), bringing me out of my meditation on my naughtiness and back into our normal relationship. As he read more and I lay there snuggling my pillows, I began to get sleepy. "I'm going to fall asleep soon," I said with what was probably a bit of a whine.
So, in he came. When he took out the bath brush, I winced. When he also took out the wooden spoon, I got that heavy feeling in my stomach as it confirmed my worst fear. The wooden spoon is usually used on my thighs. It really was going to be a "pretty severe spanking."
"Now, why are you getting spanked?" he asked as his hand started smacking my upturned bottom while my knees sunk into the bedspread and my body cradled my pillows.
"Because I didn't finish my reading," I replied.
"And why didn't you finish your reading?"
I paused for a second to think of an articulate way of describing my dereliction of duty.
"Because I didn't 'allocate my time properly.'"
And thinking of an articulate response was becoming a challenge as even his hand over my pajama bottoms was starting to really sting. I had taken a bath not quite an hour before, but I didn't think my skin would still be that sensitive. My stomach felt even heavier as I knew what was coming.
Indeed, just a few seconds later came the tug on my pajama bottoms. More hand spanks on my now bare backside. Then smacks from something wooden but fairly light. (Guess the Implement is a slightly amusing little mental game to ever so temporarily distract you from the fact that it's scalding your backside.) Then the hairbrush. A pause to discuss my infraction a bit more.
How much reading had I actually done?
About three hours or so.
Had I simply not allocated my time properly or had it been a bit much to expect to finish the book?
Hmm...both answers would be bad -- the latter being perhaps even a bit worse since I've been spanked for that before. But honestly? Well, I didn't know. At the time it seemed like a reasonable expectation that I'd finish the book. It's easy reading. Not that long (well, by grad student standards). I had a week to read. At least I thought I did. Was that the week after we came back from Vancouver? Or the week I had the unexpected extended session with the massage therapist?
Even after looking up the dates on my schedule (well, he looked it up while I remained in my er...rather undignified position) I was still unclear. It seemed like stuff had come up that week that in hindsight probably did make it a bit unrealistic to expect that I'd finish the book. But it seemed reasonable at the time.
It's hard to think clearly when you're getting spanked.
Especially with a mean old bath brush.
Which was searing my sit spot. Over and over.
Then it came. That feeling of wanting to cry. But just for a moment. That instinctive need to be stoic quickly pushed it away. Sorta.
Even as my brain was busy trying to process the pain constantly assaulting it from the south, I was becoming aware of this tug-of-war between my desire to cry and my deeply ingrained stoicism. I'd never been aware of it before. Well, that's not completely true. I've seen glimpses of it before, but I was so much more conscious of it this time than I ever had been. I would come to that edge and start to cross over, then stop. Start to cross over again, then stop. In many ways it almost felt sorta out of body. Just sitting and watching myself going back and forth.
He stopped with the brush and started spanking with his hand again. Then told me to lay flat on the bed.
Which in some ways was good because that made my bottom less tense and vulnerable.
But very bad because it made my thighs very much more vulnerable. Which was the whole point.
As he spanked my bottom more with the bath brush, he scolded me. (Boy has he gotten a lot better and mean-- er...uh...sterner -- in his scolding). How the schedule was important. How I should tell him if I'm having trouble finishing it. Combined with my pre-spanking reflection about how naughty I'd been, it made me feel very little and naughty and guilty and repentant. I just wanted to be a good girl again.
Then came those mean smacks with the wooden spoon on my thighs. And promises that if I ever failed to finish my schedule again without good reason I'd get the wooden spoon on the top of my thighs (with the memory of such a spanking adding to the horrible "eek!!" in my gut).
I crossed over the edge again. Stepped one foot fully down on the other side and started to tear up and vocally sob.
I so wanted the spanking to stop.
I so wanted to be a good girl.
I so wanted to let all that sadness and guilt and hurt out.
But it was only one foot. The other stayed firmly planted on solid stoic soil.
For this time, at least.
The bath brush came out again for six more strokes that I had to count. Then it was over. He lay down on the bed next to me. "Big cuddle." I clutched him with a foot on either side as he held me. Still tearing up. Still letting out little sobs. But not quite fully crying.
We lay there for a long time. He stroked my hair and my bottom. Softly asked me if I was going to let him know next time if I was having problems completing my schedule.
"Yes," I nodded.
"Good girl."
I had the most intense feeling of love and intimacy with any human being I think I've ever had at that moment. It was one of, if not the most amazing thing I've ever felt. As I think back on it now, all I can think is, oh my god, I soooo want to do that again. I mean, I remember that the spanking really hurt, but it seems so absolutely beautiful and profound now. And even though I have this desire to repeat the experience, I also want very much to be good.
Though good girl spankings just don't have quite the same effect.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Story: A Bedtime Spanking [M/F]
I wrote this story almost three years ago or so, before I met my boyfriend. So, it's not quite real life. We have no toy box (though I do have a naughty box he he he). No Purple Paddle -- actually, no paddle at all. And my boyfriend would never wear flannel pajamas lol. But, the rest of it is pretty close.
####
A Bedtime Spanking [M/f]
Julia sat at the end of the bed. Howie was in the bathroom doing his “getting ready for bed” rituals. Brushing his teeth. Flossing. Gargling.
Julia waited. She could hear him shuffling around. Then silence. Going to the bathroom now, most likely. Probably just a few minutes more.
She fidgeted. Brought her legs up onto the bed and sat cross-legged. Face in her hands.
Good lord, would he just come out already?
If she had to wait much longer she didn’t know if she could do it. To ask. But she couldn’t sleep…
Five minutes passed. What was he doing? Reading a Russian novel? Her fidgeting increased.
The door unlatched…
“Hey babe, what are you doing up? I tucked ya in a half an hour ago.” Howie emerged from the bathroom in his black and red Blazers shirt with red flannel pj bottoms.
“I can’t sleep…can you message my neck and shoulders?” Julia’s singing smile slithered across her face. Howie could see the subtle dimple in her cheek just right of her mouth in the light creeping in from behind the blinds.
“Of course.” Howie sat on his knees on the bed behind Julia. He kneaded the tight trapezius muscles that had knotted near her neck. Then manipulated down her spine and out towards her side. Julia gave little squeals of gratitude as his strong hands gently rubbed the lumps of rigid muscle. “There, is that better?”
“Oh yes, dear.” Julia’s smile. Warm like a summer afternoon. He encased her inside his arms. Laid his chin on her left shoulder.
“Ready for sleep now?” He kissed her cheek. She shrugged.
“I don’t know.” Ambiguous and sly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nuthin’.”
“Maybe I should just hold ya for a bit.” Howie squeezed his chest tighter against her back.
“Well…maybe…” Julia let out a happy giggle. “Or…well…um, maybe…I need…abedtimespanking…” Like popping medicine down so you don’t taste it.
“Oh yeah?” Howie’s eyebrow raised and a grin overtook his face. “Hmmm…well, then, I’ll go get the paddle then.”
“Wait, I wasn’t meaning for you to use the paddle...” Julia scowled.
“But you know that if it’s gonna put you to sleep I gotta do it right.”
“Nuh UH…You can just use your hand. It’s hard…”
“Well, I’m going to get the paddle anyway, just in case.” Howie winked and walked over to the toy box next to the closet. The khaki-brown bamboo chest Julia bought at a garage sale soon after they married. He rummaged through and lifted out the Purple Paddle. A school paddle made by a friend which Julia painted a dark lavender. With little flowers, hearts, and a butterfly or two. Just thick enough to make a point and sting like the dickens, but not so thick as to bruise. At least not too much.
Julia pouted and stood up as Howie approached the bed. He sat back on the creamy down comforter with his legs stretched out. She climbed up on the bed and laid across his lap. Her navy t-shirt clad-stomach pressed against his left thigh. Her bottom covered with sky blue knit pj bottoms sprinkled with bright yellow stars and moons faced up over his right. Julia breathed in a centering breath, laid her head on her folded arms, and waited for the smacks of sleep.
Howie brushed his left hand over the middle of her back and began spanking Julia with his right palm. Steady, certain slaps. Not too hard, but enough to make her wince. Full slaps across the middle of her buttocks. Down low near her thighs. Over to the right. Then the left…Disjointed at first. Then a steady rhythm.
The pattern paused as Howie grasped the elastic waistband of Julia’s pajama bottoms and cotton panties. The stars and moons scrunched down over her fleshy cheeks. She raised her stomach and thighs just enough for him to continue pulling the cotton sky down to her knees. He rubbed his hand over her warm, rose skin then resumed his earlier cadence. Across the middle. Down near her thighs. Over to the right. Then to the left...Stingy and strong. Jiggling the pads of fat and muscle. Julia’s wincing tightened her eyes and mouth holding whimpers of hurt.
He paused again and gripped the Purple Paddle that had sat forlorn next to him. Tapped it against Julia’s red, tender skin. Then brought it down with a hard thwack.
“Ooweee…” Julia yelped. Howie followed it up with several more hard spanks. The paddle was long enough to strike both cheeks at the same time but required a determined wrist motion to do so without punishing the right cheek and neglecting the left. After a couple years of practice, Howie had mastered it. With thoughtful, resolute spanks. Julia released her whimpers. She squealed and curled her toes. Cradled her face in her arms. The spanks came down to the intersection of her thighs and buttocks. That tender sit spot. She cried out the onomatopoeic terminology of pain. The paddle sliced the top of her thighs. Scalded. Over and over. Though there were no tears, Julia’s whimpers congealed into the sound of sobs. Howie brought the paddle back up to the fleshiest part of her buttocks. He slapped down the paddle there with a measured beat for a long while. A perpetual pulse that stung but didn’t burn. Julia loosened her rigid wincing. Took in large, full breaths. Howie softened the spanks to firm pats. Then he halted.
“You feelin’ sleepy yet?” he whispered. Julia nodded as he rubbed her soft, hot skin. She continued to pull in air with her stomach. Howie picked up the paddle and resumed his stiff, smarting taps. They crescendoed into searing smacks. Harder. Faster. Biting across the middle. Onto the sit spot. Down along her thighs. Julia sunk her face back into her arms. Cried without tears. Squealed, sobbed, and squirmed. Jerked her feet towards her bottom. Gripped the comforter between her fingers. Unknown emotions that she couldn’t name spilled out with her yelps. Emotions that had been haunting the muscles throughout her body. Released by the throbbing thud of the Purple Paddle. Howie returned to the purposeful pats of earlier then stopped and slid the paddle down onto the bed.
“Shhh…it’s alright. It’s all over now.” His hand hovered over her raw buttocks and thighs in a gentle caress while Julia continued her tearless sobs. With his left hand he stroked her hair. First with his palm, then with his fingertips. Soft and tender. Her sobs turned to whimpers and then to a cleansing gathering of air. “I’ll go get the aloe vera gel while you get into bed.” He slid his left arm underneath her chest and guided her up onto her knees. She crawled over to the top of the bed, then lay down on her stomach.
The gel made Julia shiver as Howie rubbed it over her skin in small, purposeful circles. He put the bottle on the nightstand, returned the pj bottoms around her waist, then lay next to her and resumed stroking her hair. She turned the left side of her face onto his chest, atop Scottie Pippen with a big head holding a basketball. And as she roamed off into dreamland, she smiled.
Sometimes, you just need a bedtime spanking.
Coypyright 2002 Natty
####
A Bedtime Spanking [M/f]
Julia sat at the end of the bed. Howie was in the bathroom doing his “getting ready for bed” rituals. Brushing his teeth. Flossing. Gargling.
Julia waited. She could hear him shuffling around. Then silence. Going to the bathroom now, most likely. Probably just a few minutes more.
She fidgeted. Brought her legs up onto the bed and sat cross-legged. Face in her hands.
Good lord, would he just come out already?
If she had to wait much longer she didn’t know if she could do it. To ask. But she couldn’t sleep…
Five minutes passed. What was he doing? Reading a Russian novel? Her fidgeting increased.
The door unlatched…
“Hey babe, what are you doing up? I tucked ya in a half an hour ago.” Howie emerged from the bathroom in his black and red Blazers shirt with red flannel pj bottoms.
“I can’t sleep…can you message my neck and shoulders?” Julia’s singing smile slithered across her face. Howie could see the subtle dimple in her cheek just right of her mouth in the light creeping in from behind the blinds.
“Of course.” Howie sat on his knees on the bed behind Julia. He kneaded the tight trapezius muscles that had knotted near her neck. Then manipulated down her spine and out towards her side. Julia gave little squeals of gratitude as his strong hands gently rubbed the lumps of rigid muscle. “There, is that better?”
“Oh yes, dear.” Julia’s smile. Warm like a summer afternoon. He encased her inside his arms. Laid his chin on her left shoulder.
“Ready for sleep now?” He kissed her cheek. She shrugged.
“I don’t know.” Ambiguous and sly.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nuthin’.”
“Maybe I should just hold ya for a bit.” Howie squeezed his chest tighter against her back.
“Well…maybe…” Julia let out a happy giggle. “Or…well…um, maybe…I need…abedtimespanking…” Like popping medicine down so you don’t taste it.
“Oh yeah?” Howie’s eyebrow raised and a grin overtook his face. “Hmmm…well, then, I’ll go get the paddle then.”
“Wait, I wasn’t meaning for you to use the paddle...” Julia scowled.
“But you know that if it’s gonna put you to sleep I gotta do it right.”
“Nuh UH…You can just use your hand. It’s hard…”
“Well, I’m going to get the paddle anyway, just in case.” Howie winked and walked over to the toy box next to the closet. The khaki-brown bamboo chest Julia bought at a garage sale soon after they married. He rummaged through and lifted out the Purple Paddle. A school paddle made by a friend which Julia painted a dark lavender. With little flowers, hearts, and a butterfly or two. Just thick enough to make a point and sting like the dickens, but not so thick as to bruise. At least not too much.
Julia pouted and stood up as Howie approached the bed. He sat back on the creamy down comforter with his legs stretched out. She climbed up on the bed and laid across his lap. Her navy t-shirt clad-stomach pressed against his left thigh. Her bottom covered with sky blue knit pj bottoms sprinkled with bright yellow stars and moons faced up over his right. Julia breathed in a centering breath, laid her head on her folded arms, and waited for the smacks of sleep.
Howie brushed his left hand over the middle of her back and began spanking Julia with his right palm. Steady, certain slaps. Not too hard, but enough to make her wince. Full slaps across the middle of her buttocks. Down low near her thighs. Over to the right. Then the left…Disjointed at first. Then a steady rhythm.
The pattern paused as Howie grasped the elastic waistband of Julia’s pajama bottoms and cotton panties. The stars and moons scrunched down over her fleshy cheeks. She raised her stomach and thighs just enough for him to continue pulling the cotton sky down to her knees. He rubbed his hand over her warm, rose skin then resumed his earlier cadence. Across the middle. Down near her thighs. Over to the right. Then to the left...Stingy and strong. Jiggling the pads of fat and muscle. Julia’s wincing tightened her eyes and mouth holding whimpers of hurt.
He paused again and gripped the Purple Paddle that had sat forlorn next to him. Tapped it against Julia’s red, tender skin. Then brought it down with a hard thwack.
“Ooweee…” Julia yelped. Howie followed it up with several more hard spanks. The paddle was long enough to strike both cheeks at the same time but required a determined wrist motion to do so without punishing the right cheek and neglecting the left. After a couple years of practice, Howie had mastered it. With thoughtful, resolute spanks. Julia released her whimpers. She squealed and curled her toes. Cradled her face in her arms. The spanks came down to the intersection of her thighs and buttocks. That tender sit spot. She cried out the onomatopoeic terminology of pain. The paddle sliced the top of her thighs. Scalded. Over and over. Though there were no tears, Julia’s whimpers congealed into the sound of sobs. Howie brought the paddle back up to the fleshiest part of her buttocks. He slapped down the paddle there with a measured beat for a long while. A perpetual pulse that stung but didn’t burn. Julia loosened her rigid wincing. Took in large, full breaths. Howie softened the spanks to firm pats. Then he halted.
“You feelin’ sleepy yet?” he whispered. Julia nodded as he rubbed her soft, hot skin. She continued to pull in air with her stomach. Howie picked up the paddle and resumed his stiff, smarting taps. They crescendoed into searing smacks. Harder. Faster. Biting across the middle. Onto the sit spot. Down along her thighs. Julia sunk her face back into her arms. Cried without tears. Squealed, sobbed, and squirmed. Jerked her feet towards her bottom. Gripped the comforter between her fingers. Unknown emotions that she couldn’t name spilled out with her yelps. Emotions that had been haunting the muscles throughout her body. Released by the throbbing thud of the Purple Paddle. Howie returned to the purposeful pats of earlier then stopped and slid the paddle down onto the bed.
“Shhh…it’s alright. It’s all over now.” His hand hovered over her raw buttocks and thighs in a gentle caress while Julia continued her tearless sobs. With his left hand he stroked her hair. First with his palm, then with his fingertips. Soft and tender. Her sobs turned to whimpers and then to a cleansing gathering of air. “I’ll go get the aloe vera gel while you get into bed.” He slid his left arm underneath her chest and guided her up onto her knees. She crawled over to the top of the bed, then lay down on her stomach.
The gel made Julia shiver as Howie rubbed it over her skin in small, purposeful circles. He put the bottle on the nightstand, returned the pj bottoms around her waist, then lay next to her and resumed stroking her hair. She turned the left side of her face onto his chest, atop Scottie Pippen with a big head holding a basketball. And as she roamed off into dreamland, she smiled.
Sometimes, you just need a bedtime spanking.
Coypyright 2002 Natty
Monday, January 17, 2005
Bedtime Spankings
Geesh, bedtime spankings have been getting me in so much trouble lately.
Okay, I like a nice bedtime spanking. You know, something sorta over the knee. Just the hand. Maybe a hairbrush, but not too hard.
So, every once in awhile after I'm in my jammies and brushed my teeth, I sit next to my boyfriend (who is usually on the computer) and sweetly ask for a bedtime spanking.
Well, a couple of nights ago, I was feeling slightly bratty. When he came over to the bed where I was sitting to spank me, he told me to lay down. Now, I know he meant on my tummy, and he knew I knew what he meant, but like I said, I was feeling bratty. So I laid down on my back. Grinned and said, "okay, I'm laying down." Without so much as a stern look, he simply told me to turn over. And then informed me that since I didn't do what I was supposed to do, I was going to get the riding crop.
Eek! I haven't gotten the riding crop since last Spring. Since before the horrible kidney infection in September that took all my endorphines away.
I gulped. Why couldn't I have been a good girl and done what I was told?
But you know what? The endorphines came back! I mean, it hurt like it always has. But, that's the point. Like it always has.
And they've stayed around too. Which is good because the other night when I asked for one, or rather, said it would be nice to have one, I got a bit bratty again. Though, it was sorta unintentional -- well, at least not the way I meant it to be.
We were sorta sitting there web surfing. I had mentioned earlier that a bedtime spanking would be nice. Time had passed and I was thinking that he wasn't going to bother. So when he finally said that I should go to bed, I just looked at him with my steely defiant look. "You know," he said calmly, "the longer you sit here, the more severe the implement will be..."
Ugh! I jumped up then and there to go to bed. When he came over to the bed, he spanked me with the brush, then made me turn over on to my back and lift my legs up. Double ugh! Apparently he decided that such defiance had to be curbed right then and there so I got the spoon on the back of my thighs.
Very owwee.
But, much more bearable than it would have been last month.
Yay for endorphines. And for my body that's getting back into spanko mode.
####
P.S. Yes, I know you're reading my blog and thinking "wait -- I was here on January 9th and the 17th and I didn't see these posts." Yep, you're right. But God bless Blogger as it lets me put any old date on here that I want to. So, I figured I'd post them with the dates they would have had if I would have had a chance to post them then.
There are more January blog posts from my journal forthcoming...
Okay, I like a nice bedtime spanking. You know, something sorta over the knee. Just the hand. Maybe a hairbrush, but not too hard.
So, every once in awhile after I'm in my jammies and brushed my teeth, I sit next to my boyfriend (who is usually on the computer) and sweetly ask for a bedtime spanking.
Well, a couple of nights ago, I was feeling slightly bratty. When he came over to the bed where I was sitting to spank me, he told me to lay down. Now, I know he meant on my tummy, and he knew I knew what he meant, but like I said, I was feeling bratty. So I laid down on my back. Grinned and said, "okay, I'm laying down." Without so much as a stern look, he simply told me to turn over. And then informed me that since I didn't do what I was supposed to do, I was going to get the riding crop.
Eek! I haven't gotten the riding crop since last Spring. Since before the horrible kidney infection in September that took all my endorphines away.
I gulped. Why couldn't I have been a good girl and done what I was told?
But you know what? The endorphines came back! I mean, it hurt like it always has. But, that's the point. Like it always has.
And they've stayed around too. Which is good because the other night when I asked for one, or rather, said it would be nice to have one, I got a bit bratty again. Though, it was sorta unintentional -- well, at least not the way I meant it to be.
We were sorta sitting there web surfing. I had mentioned earlier that a bedtime spanking would be nice. Time had passed and I was thinking that he wasn't going to bother. So when he finally said that I should go to bed, I just looked at him with my steely defiant look. "You know," he said calmly, "the longer you sit here, the more severe the implement will be..."
Ugh! I jumped up then and there to go to bed. When he came over to the bed, he spanked me with the brush, then made me turn over on to my back and lift my legs up. Double ugh! Apparently he decided that such defiance had to be curbed right then and there so I got the spoon on the back of my thighs.
Very owwee.
But, much more bearable than it would have been last month.
Yay for endorphines. And for my body that's getting back into spanko mode.
####
P.S. Yes, I know you're reading my blog and thinking "wait -- I was here on January 9th and the 17th and I didn't see these posts." Yep, you're right. But God bless Blogger as it lets me put any old date on here that I want to. So, I figured I'd post them with the dates they would have had if I would have had a chance to post them then.
There are more January blog posts from my journal forthcoming...
Sunday, January 09, 2005
A New Spanking Year
I rang in the New Year with a spanking.
Well, okay, actually I rang it in throwing up. Not because I was drunk or anything. Never even got that far. I came down with a touch of the stomach flu.
Didn't feel good on New Year's Eve, but had a dinner date at a friend's and dragged myself there. I mean, it was New Year's Eve. I didn't want to stay home. Plus, I wanted my boyfriend to meet one of my best friends.
So we went. Ate dinner. Watched "Seinfeld" on DVD. My boyfriend and I planned to watch fireworks at Waterfront Park and stop off at a bar for some New Year whiskey. So, we caught the bus back downtown, by which time I was feeling really icky and feverish. But, you know, I like to be tough. And well, I have Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome so I feel like crap most of the time anyway. So, I just dragged myself along without saying I felt sick.
Turned out, there were no fireworks along the river. Just some lame ones six blocks to the west of us at Pioneer Courthouse Square behind all the office buildings. But, we'd sat there in the cold waiting for them. You know, while I was feverish and feeling icky. I finally said I wasn't feeling that well, so we went home.
It wasn't until I threw up a few hours later that he realized just how sick I was. When I heard him say "you shouldn't have been sitting out in the cold if you were this sick," I knew we'd be continuing the conversation later. Probably with a wooden spoon.
I got sorta lucky. It was only the belt. Which hurts, but is a much more manageable pain for me than a wooden spoon on my thighs.
Well, okay, actually I rang it in throwing up. Not because I was drunk or anything. Never even got that far. I came down with a touch of the stomach flu.
Didn't feel good on New Year's Eve, but had a dinner date at a friend's and dragged myself there. I mean, it was New Year's Eve. I didn't want to stay home. Plus, I wanted my boyfriend to meet one of my best friends.
So we went. Ate dinner. Watched "Seinfeld" on DVD. My boyfriend and I planned to watch fireworks at Waterfront Park and stop off at a bar for some New Year whiskey. So, we caught the bus back downtown, by which time I was feeling really icky and feverish. But, you know, I like to be tough. And well, I have Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome so I feel like crap most of the time anyway. So, I just dragged myself along without saying I felt sick.
Turned out, there were no fireworks along the river. Just some lame ones six blocks to the west of us at Pioneer Courthouse Square behind all the office buildings. But, we'd sat there in the cold waiting for them. You know, while I was feverish and feeling icky. I finally said I wasn't feeling that well, so we went home.
It wasn't until I threw up a few hours later that he realized just how sick I was. When I heard him say "you shouldn't have been sitting out in the cold if you were this sick," I knew we'd be continuing the conversation later. Probably with a wooden spoon.
I got sorta lucky. It was only the belt. Which hurts, but is a much more manageable pain for me than a wooden spoon on my thighs.
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